The ground, a tad brown
The air, somewhat grainy
And on everyone’s face a frown.
Tired faces and beady sweat
Marks the people who want to feel wet.
The flutter of pigeons, somewhat louder
The exhaust from vehicles, adding to the powder.
Then the skies go much darker
The signal of a shower
Minutes act like an hour
The city seems like it has lost power.
Just then, a trickle
The thoughts, so fickle
Hoping the drops don’t stop.
And stop they don’t
Clear skies they won’t.
Till more than our fill
We have, and sit still.
Waiting then for the clouds to go.
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